A L L Y S S A   W O L F
_______________________________________________________________

TRANSPARENT END TO THE STREET, CONTINUED

 

For Daniel

 

 

A joyous storm, the garbage girls afright
Fled from the bright lips of certain suns

Who would swallow each end of the world

Who would from there

Watch me ride

Click clack click

Because merchants trade in rare-bloods
Blue-bloods, bloody-bloods

Because you give me many images
To dismiss from my composition

Because my body is against you
Lying in a Donald Judd bed

Because it is a good example of how decayed
The intelligence has become

Because I am still receiving
The end

Because

A night in a lotus in deep decay

Smelling this, I'll be red

I'll be white leaves yes I'll be heavy lying on your back

So why come back to me thin and blank
The thoughts of friends

Make me up now
A corpse that speaks only

When there's cosmetic proof
The lingering swell

Of your taste for blue-blood, true-blood, bloody-blood
That sentiment always travels

Where new milk be drained from the lips of the sun
Spitting season and the cannibal heart had eaten myself

Into a smoking child a halo-blue-skinned boy
We should write with white blood on his belly:

“There was an intelligence meltdown
All the angels have been burned”

Then come back to the world
Because seriously
I'll need something to read

An invisible argument

I was looking into it

Imagine my surprise when
I found a poem by a poet who reproduced over and over
A certain style an elegant insanity

It looked so good I'd have bought it at a store
But not here
Frankly I can't afford surreal machines

Saying that, I should sheepishly admit
Me and the cat continue to swoon and sway
Exchange sweat sweet spit
At the Grande Mannerist Ice Cream Parlour

Draped in pink and orange, we laid Bacon
Over our sundaes

(my own fakeness was in service of the bloody-bloods

Our music is all over the lace

Even in the way

Grey tilts at me from the ceiling of my hotel-hive
Self-preservation keeps the crowd alive

Click clack click

Hi.

It is an amazing fact that
Some people don't believe in God
Instead they have chosen to believe Jack

It follows that they believe John
That death will be no more

That Jack would rather die than be your industry
It doesn't work, nor pain, nor outcry

That Jack thinks you're a bunch of chumps
God hates you all

Jinky as well as janky

I don't believe in Yoko
I don't believe in Buddha

I just believe in me
Toto and me

That's reality

 

Click clack click

The ghosts are refusing to sign your skin
They heard you making it sound
So swell and good
When it's really nothing the ghosts
They think it's just to paint the ceiling's pain

Therefore, I will never be home

Are you trying to reach me (or)
My love

 

 

 

back to issue two

 

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